


Heroes

by WeLoveNeville



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Goldfish idea?, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock musing, What is a Hero?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-17
Updated: 2016-11-17
Packaged: 2018-08-31 14:42:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8582368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeLoveNeville/pseuds/WeLoveNeville
Summary: Even when he was a child, Sherlock struggled with the idea of heroes. He never understood them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I wrote this almost 2 years ago, January 2015, during a horrible bout of flu. Originally I posted it to FF.net, but I am posting it here on a whim, with minor changes. It's not the best, but it is short and sweet.

Heroes were always a concept Sherlock Holmes had struggled with.

Even in primary school, Sherlock didn't understood the meaning behind them. Especially when his teacher asked the class to write about their personal hero. It got him thinking: what was a hero? Who were heroes? How did you become a hero? Was there any point to heroes? Are heroes always necessarily a 'good' thing? Could a hero be a terrible person who does wonderful things?

He went home that day from school and asked Mycroft (since Mummy and Daddy were very busy) what a hero was. Mycroft dismissed him with a snappy retort of "Heroes don't exist, Sherlock!" before he stormed off into his room to read. Sherlock was not surprised with Mycroft's response. Why would Mycroft believe in such a thing, after all? Mycroft only believed in himself, and no one else.

While playing pirates with Redbeard, Sherlock even asked his faithful dog, but in response the dog licked his face. That wasn't very helpful, but Sherlock didn't mind. Redbeard wouldn't know either. Sherlock believed he was an intelligent dog, but dogs couldn't speak. All Redbeard wanted to do was play fetch, lick Sherlock's face, and be a faithful pirate in Sherlock's games.

He never did that homework. Mummy was called in by school because it was 'one homework too many not completed!', but Sherlock didn't care to listen to his teacher's complaints. How could he when he struggled with the concept of a hero? How can you write about your hero when you don't even know what one is? To Sherlock, that was impossible.

*SH*

Sherlock all but forgot about heroes until the day he met Dr. Watson, twenty five years later, and the day he realised John venerated him as a hero for London.

He couldn't understand how John could think like that, especially when John had been the one to fight for Queen and country in Afghanistan, taking a bullet as such. How could the doctor view the high functioning sociopath as a hero? It was inexpiable. Sherlock weaved the line between good and evil, light and darkness. Either side would obviously profit from having the Sherlock Holmes, but Sherlock chose to invent a job title and chase after criminals, cleaning up after the oft inadequate New Scotland Yard, therefore staying in the light, on what Mycroft would call the 'right side'. However, to Sherlock, this in no capacity made him a hero. Even after he had rebuked John for suggesting it, John's feelings on the matter still nagged Sherlock in the back of his mind palace, as he waded through the junk and mundane, deleting stuff here and there.

John thought him a hero.

John was being ridiculous again.

*SH*

Heroes.

Even in primary school, Sherlock didn't understood the meaning behind them. He was in his thirties now.

What was a hero?  
Who were heroes?  
How did you become a hero?  
Was there any point to heroes?  
Could a hero be a terrible person who does wonderful things?

Sherlock considered heroes while he was on self exile from England for two years. It was a mundane thought train to keep his mind active while he snatched a bit of sleep here and there. After all, there was only so many deduction games one could play by themselves. Thinking of heroes made him sentimental, and while Mycroft's words of 'Caring is not an advantage' tugged at his brain, for once, Sherlock didn't mind being sentimental. It gave him hope that perhaps he would return to London...one day.

Was Molly Hooper a hero for helping save him? Was that a qualification to be a hero? He didn't know. John was a hero, there was no question about it. Was even his brother a hero for all he had done for Britain? Sherlock silently scoffed at the idea of Mycroft being a hero, but he had to concede that it was partially true.

Was he a hero truly now for dismantling Moriarty's circle? Was that a qualification to be a hero?

Surely not, contrary to what some might say. In the process of that, he'd ruined his best friend. His only friend since Redbeard. His pride in his brain, the game with Moriarty, it had stripped him of his best friend. Sherlock was not one to be lonely, but he had felt loneliness in the past two years, and had quickly discovered that he despised it. And thinking of John moving on with his life, forgetting about 221B Baker Street, of running around London in the dark, of having a boring, normal life, did not sit well with Sherlock. So he thought of heroes, but heroes always brought him back to John.

John would never see Sherlock as a hero again, not when Sherlock returned, and as this dawned on Sherlock, lying in a dirty back alley, under the stars and the midnight blue night sky in Bangkok, this strangely upset him.

*SH*

Heroes.

They were an odd concept. Viewing someone as inspiration. Did it show less ambition? Sherlock didn't know.

His return to London was different to what he had expected. John was pissed off, that moustache - ! - and John had a girlfriend - or was that fiancée? Sherlock hadn't noticed if John had actually proposed or not, he'd been a little more preoccupied with not getting his nose broken. That had not been part of the plan, especially since his body ached from the beatings in Serbia. Mycroft should have warned him - or maybe Mycroft had tried to when he told Sherlock that John was not in 221B Baker Street. So perhaps John fighting him was a deserved punishment.

Sherlock could still sense it.

John still viewed him as a hero.

Goldfish were weird. Whether live-ins or not.

*SH*

Heroes.

Ok, so maybe he *could* be classed as some sort of hero. He solved murders, and therefore people's lives all the time. He'd saved London from a bomb plot. He'd saved his best friend's wedding from utter ruin. He'd saved his best friend and his wife. Pulling the trigger on CAM, well, was that not the ultimate sacrifice for his best friend?

Did that make Sherlock a hero?

He didn't know.

Did he care? No, not really. Being a hero wasn't going to stop him from protecting John, protecting Mary, protecting Molly, protecting Lestrade - his name was Graham, right? Had to be. - protecting Mrs Hudson, protecting (with a grudge) his family, protecting London, protecting the country.

Although if being a hero meant he couldn't do that, heroes were an useless concept then. Sherlock was tiring of his brain lingering on heroes, he didn't understand why it kept coming back to it. Maybe he was trying to give himself a lesson. If he was, he didn't like it, his brain playing tricks on him like this. There were more important things to think of other than heroes.

*SH*

Heroes.

They literally screamed, "goldfish idea!" to Sherlock. What a silly concept. Mycroft had to be right, surely they could not exist? What idiot came up with the idea of heroes?

He still was John's hero, regardless of Sherlock's thoughts on them. He always would be. And perhaps...maybe...Sherlock could accept that. Because you know what? He liked it.


End file.
